Sometimes I Dream About You
by Baje Barra
Summary: A series of one-shot dream sequences had by the characters of Merlin. Eighth Dream: After setting Sefa's execution, Gwen has a few words for her old friend.
1. Arthur and Lancelot

**UPDATE: May 24, 2012, I edited this and added a few more lines. Just wasn't quite finished yet. New chapter should be coming soon!**

**New fic :D Hi!**

**So first of all, I promise I'm still writing Have Been and Could Be. Actually, the dream sequence of Morgana's I wrote for that fic is ****actually what inspired this. It'll be a collection of one-shots, all dreams of one character about another, especially certain characters I feel have unfinished business. If you've read my other story, you already know I'm a sucker for conversation and character study, so a lot of this will be like that. ****Pairings only implied for this one. **

**Disclaimer: Merlin not mine. Warnings: Unbetaed. This one's been stirring around in my head for a while, I hope I did Arthur's POV justice, it's new territory, so PLEASE review, let me know if I did. Enjoy!**

**Setting for this first one: After Arthur banishes Gwen in Season Four, Lancelot appears to him in his sleep.**

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Arthur And Lancelot

"You haven't been sleeping well, sire."

Arthur jolted awake. His enormous pillows leapt off the plush bed as he found the source of the voice and scrambled back so fast that he slammed himself against the headboard with wide, straining eyes. Past the wooden posts and canopies was a shadowed man in glinting chainmail that somehow, when he moved, did not rattle as chainmail should. It made no sound.

"You're dead," was all Arthur could get out. His heart was beating too fast.

Lancelot's face moved into the moonlight and he shook his head. "Not to you, clearly," he said with a smile. Arthur remembered that smile…muted and warm, so deceptively gentle for a man who could kill better than the rest of the army.

"Maybe not," Arthur replied slowly, easing himself off his headboard and trying not to shake, "—but that doesn't mean I want to see you," He could only hope his voice sounded sturdier to the ghost than it did to his own ears.

"You never wanted to see me, Arthur," Lancelot said softly. Arthur shook his head dizzily, only dimly recognizing that as true. "Not until now, at least, else I couldn't be here," the ghost amended.

Arthur still couldn't think of a word to say.

"…You should have been able to look me in the eye, you know." Lancelot went on slowly. "I swore an oath to you and I meant it."

"You broke that oath the moment you laid a hand on her," Arthur hissed. Lancelot's stare pierced his eyes.

"If that's really what was bothering you, you'd be seeing _her_ now, not me," his voice was less surreal now. Arthur remembered that foreign, easy voice, so quiet and gentle, unlike Arthur's own, "—And I wasn't talking about when I came back again, I meant before. From the moment I answered Merlin's letter, even while you were knighting me, I remember how you could hardly stand the sight of m—"

"—The woman I loved got her heart broken when you left her because of me," Arthur shouted. "How could I look at you after _that_?"

Lancelot turned his gaze on him and Arthur remembered again to be afraid. Yelling at ghosts couldn't be the best idea. "I suppose you have a point, there." The dead man walked easily to the end of his bed and sit down beside the quivering king's feet.

"Well…now she's gone," Arthur spat, hating the way his voice nearly broke. "You got your wish," Arthur felt hollowed out as the words left his body and he could have sworn he saw Lancelot wince.

"She wasn't my only wish, Arthur. Don't pretend you didn't know that. I wanted to be a _knight_, I wanted to be someone who mattered to a kingdom."

Arthur hummed a bitter laugh and turned away. "I don't know when she fell in love with me after you left the first time but, her and I, we could never talk about you. Your name didn't come up once."

Lancelot looked down at the floor. "Arthur…"

"—The look on her face, when you and Percival knocked that rock over, I knew I was so close to losing her. So I kissed her in front of all of you. If she had to hide for me for one more second, with _you_ there, I couldn't keep her,"

"—You're still a _king_, Arthur," he interrupted, face set and steady, "I was nothing compared to you."

Arthur's vision started to blur as he stared at the floor with him. "No," he found himself saying. "That's not true…if you hadn't left, she wouldn't have needed to deal with my father. Or Morgana. Or the rest of the court gossiping about her. She was nearly executed and she had to _wait_ for me," he trailed off, somehow feeling better and worse for realizing it out loud, "It wouldn't have been that hard with you. _I_ was the one who made her go through hell."

Lancelot shrugged. "She wasn't alone in that. You went through the same things."

Incredulously, Arthur laughed. "I'm the reason for _both_ your deaths and you can still say something like _that_ to me?" he shook his head, "You know, you're everything I was ever told to be, except you were never _told_ to be so." Lance's mouth shifted into a smile, and Arthur had the sneaking suspicion that the knight was trying not to laugh at him. "What?" he asked irritably.

The knight shook his grinning head in reply. "Only a king would ever blame himself for deaths like mine."

Arthur blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"It wasn't your fault. I _chose_ to become a knight and I chose to leave Gwen. I also chose to step through that veil. You never had a choice, you were born into that crown, and so was Gwen. She was always meant to be a queen."

There it was, the truth he'd been afraid of, and it hurt Arthur more than anything. "…Why could _you_ see that before I even glanced twice at her?"

The smile vanished from Lancelot's mouth. "I don't know."

For a while, neither of them said a word until Arthur could no longer stand the room that silence gave him to think. "Do you regret it?" he asked, "Those choices you said you made?"

Something flickered in Lancelot's almost black eyes. "After I came back, I only kissed her once the way I wanted to and it wasn't even my doing," he looked down at the floor, "We all gave up so much for this kingdom…I held back so much…even though I wasn't controlling the body, I can't say I regret any of what happened the last time you saw me."

"No, I'll bet you don't," Arthur said darkly. He remembered how Guinevere cried for him…not controlling the body, what nonsense. But when he turned back to Lancelot, he realized he'd never seen the knight look angry before.

"Use your sense, Arthur," he seemed to make an effort to control his tone, "If Gwen and I were having an affair, why would we stage it in the throne room when I could have just gone to her house all the way in the lower town where you'd never see us?" He looked vaguely disgusted. "Think what you will of me, at least realize that _she's _smarter than that."

Something twisted inside Arthur's chest. "And you were too," he whispered.

Lancelot's eyes were distant. "I got to do some good before I died. You're all alive, and Merlin made sure I went in peace. Believe me, it's more than I ever could have asked for."

"Do you always have to be so bloody _honorable_ all the time?" Arthur asked incredulously.

He looked back at the king, "It's how I was built, I guess," his eyes twinkled.

Arthur stared at him and leaned forward over his own hands. "You mattered to this place, Lancelot. It shouldn't have been you…you shouldn't have died, you were worth—"

"—More than you ever wanted to know?" he smiled gently. "Thank you, sire," Arthur nodded and stayed quiet until Lancelot spoke up again. "I'm not the only one in your kingdom like that, Arthur. Keep an eye out, you'll see what I mean."

He turned to go. Without thinking, Arthur called after him. "She's innocent, then?"

"What do you think?" Lancelot answered back over his shoulder

"Then what does that make _me?_" Arthur pleaded. But the dead man kept walking and was gone, vanished into the black.

* * *

Hours before Merlin came to wake him, Arthur opened his eyes and looked out the blinding bright window. The world looked different somehow that morning, as if it were even more out of his hands than it had been the days before, but he didn't remember dreaming a thing.

* * *

**The Next Dream: Gwen is transported back to a memory.**

**(and review button's right there!)**


	2. Gwen and Helios

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine. Warnings: This one came out a little harsher than I meant it to, but I went with it. A few adult themes, that kinda stuff. **

**Setting: While Guinevere is in exile, she dreams of a place she's been avoiding thinking about, and a person she'd rather not see.**

* * *

Gwen and Helios

Gwen blinked her eyes. She'd been here before. Her hands explored what they were resting on—a plush velvet sitting cushion, before a table set with divine looking food in a beautifully lit cavern.

"More wine?" She glanced up at the source of the voice. A goblet in front of her sparkled with black, red and gold, held in the large muscular hand of Helios.

"Hmm." Gwen exhaled long and bit her lip. "I was wondering when I'd dream about this place," she let her eyes wander around the cave.

Helios's smile stretched wide, showing all his teeth. "Never really left it, did you?"

"Apparently not," Gwen commented wryly.

He chuckled. "Then here we are. Do you dream often of such things, milady? Things that…unsettle you?" Gwen didn't want to shiver at the way his tongue dwelled over the word _unsettle_ so, knowing this was her dream, she didn't.

"I didn't used to, no," she responded steadily, thinking back, "Perhaps living with the Lady Morgana rubbed off on me."

At that, Helios shouted with laughter that echoed off the cavern stone. "Yes, that's right…she told me you were her handmaiden."

"Maidservant," Gwen corrected automatically.

"My apologies," Helios's smirking voice slid over the words. "I must say, though," he leaned back on his elbows and tilted his head to examine her, "…I was even more right about you than I first thought."

Gwen's mouth tensed. "About what?"

"Well, I knew I'd found something of true beauty when I raided your town in the first place, but I had no _idea_ you'd be proof of my shared taste with a King," Gwen's eyes widened and glared at Helios before she could stop them. It only widened the warlord's grin. "I'll admit—I wanted to congratulate myself when I found out who you were."

So many replies gathered around Guinevere's closed lips that she couldn't choose one to say out loud, so all she was left with was "You're welcome, I suppose."

Apparently, Helios found her endlessly amusing as well as lovely. His dark eyes sparked. "Lady Morgana thinks you're dead."

"Morgana thinks a lot of things."

"Yes…she was wrong about you on more than one occasion, I've heard."

Gwen frowned. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "They say this isn't the first time she's thought you were dead."

Gwen lowered her eyes and shook her head. "I've been lucky. Having friends does more to keep me alive than anything."

Helios scoffed and smirked again at her. She wished she would stop dreaming that smirk so exactly, it was getting unnerving. "Ah, but she's not the only one of your friends who was wrong about you, was she? No, there's more to it than that, isn't there?" Gwen didn't respond, so he continued, "From what I know of your dearest Arthur, for example, he's quite the honorable bloke, noble and _honest_," this time she _did_ shiver at the way he extended the word, "—All those virtues Camelot likes to pretend it values."

She felt on edge as she replied, "What exactly are you trying to say to me?"

"I'm trying to say that your Arthur doesn't sound like the kind of person who can lie worth a damn," his eyes roamed over her frame, up and down, "You, on the other hand…"

Gwen lifted her chin. "I, on the other hand, what?"

"You're talented. You were false to the teeth at this table with me and didn't even flinch," Helios moved forward, off his elbows. The closer he got to her, the more Gwen was shocked that her back stayed straight and refused to lean away, "So, Guinevere. Tell me. Does Arthur know exactly how little like him you are?"

Gwen didn't feel surprised at the question itself, but at how little she'd thought about it before. Her frown deepened and she stared open-mouthed at Helios. "No," she found herself saying finally, "He doesn't."

That grin of his took on a different life, and his eyes narrowed in a way Gwen remembered too well. "I _do_ wish you hadn't escaped," his soft voice was laced with something predatory.

"Why is that?" Gwen asked, even though she knew the answer.

"Because you would have been smart. Women like you, they'll do what's necessary to survive," his mouth twisted wider, "…which means you and I would have gotten to know each other _very_ well."

She didn't have to respond. Impersonating a princess for Hengist while he made Lancelot fight for her, pretending still to serve Morgana even while she was killing Gwen's own neighbors, and now here it was—the worst role she'd almost played. It made sense to her why she'd been waiting for this dream to come for weeks. "Yes. We most likely would have."

Helios shook his head and huffed. "No, Arthur had no idea what kind of woman he was attracted to."

"Arthur was raised royal. I wasn't," Gwen said stonily. "I am not a noblewoman. I've not been knighted, I've sworn no oaths of honesty."

"Nor of honor, then," Helios remarked.

"Honor? Honor is being true to yourself and your own heart, not to others' ears. My heart wanted to live. I'd do it all again. Besides, Arthur had already stopped caring for me when you and I met. I'd have owed him nothing."

"_There_ it is," Helios, for the first time since she'd begun to dream, stopped smiling. Instead his eyes grew warm and bright, and he slowly nodded at her. Gwen couldn't tear her gaze away as she realized with guilt what words she'd just let slip past her mouth. "You owe him nothing," he repeated. "Oh, I envy the land Camelot will be once _you_ are crowned its Queen," Gwen didn't understand it—for a wild moment, she could have sworn he looked almost proud.

The cavern, his face, and the world before her faded to black until all was dark, then seconds later snapped into white day in front of her eyes.

Panic shot through her as her back straightened and raised itself too quickly off her bed. For a moment, she looked around confused, wondering where she'd seen this strange place before.

"Gwen?" Hunith's voice called from past the door. Gwen let out a long breath of relief. Of course. Ealdor. Exile. Penniless and alone. It was all familiar again.

As she stood and dressed, then busied herself with task of refolding the bedclothes for Hunith, Gwen thought back to the dream. Maybe it was for the best that Arthur would never see her again. Someday, he'd wonder why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place, and Gwen wouldn't have the heart to explain to him that someone so blunt and noble couldn't resist a liar.

* * *

**I love Angel Coulby's Gwen so much, and basically I think she's ten times more interesting than lots of the scenes they give her. This was my attempt to explore that, I feel like it came out sounding too mean, but review! Tell me what you guys think.**

**The Next Dream: Gaius sees an old witch of a friend he's been avoiding.**


	3. Gaius and Nimueh

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine. Warnings: Not much for this one, except I made a lot of this stuff up. **

**Setting: After Morgana is defeated the first time, and the kingdom is in ruins from her Immortal Army, ****Gaius sees an old witch of a friend he's been avoiding.**

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Gaius and Nimueh

"How long has it been, Gaius?" the old man's eyelids flew open. He knew immediately that he was in a dream—he could not have slept on the banquet hall table and awoken without back-pain otherwise.

Before he even lifted his body off the flat slab of oak, he saw her across the room. She wasn't wearing the face of hers that he knew very well, but it made no difference. She still walked in that same distinct way—every movement she made began at her hips. "It's been more than three years since you killed me, correct?" she asked.

"Nimueh," Gaius nodded stiffly. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, isn't it obvious, physician?" Nimueh smiled with her plump lips, the other giveaway in her appearance. Even at sixty, her mouth had retained a youth that made others uneasy.

Gaius turned his head away from the question and raised his dignified chin. "I never understood why you continued to hide your age after we figured out who you were."

Her eyes flashed with steel. "Times are bare, Gaius," she said. "Consider how little I have, living in caves. Vanity is my only luxury."

"Was. You're dead now."

"No need to belabor the point," she said airily.

"I won't apologize, if that's what you're looking for," Gaius kept his tone level.

"You know I'm not looking for anything," Nimueh's voice smoothed through the air. "This is _your_ dream after all. You summoned _me_."

"I most certainly did not."

"For the first time," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken, "…in over a decade, you _miss_ having me around, don't you? In a high court position, keeping this kingdom in line?"

Gaius's eyes cast down to the floor. He was an old man. He knew when there was nothing left to argue, and Morgana had just swept through Uther's Camelot and left it in shreds. Yes. Lately, he missed Nimueh.

"He's dying," Gaius said shortly.

"And you're wondering now if you chose the wrong side after all?" she asked, batting her absurd eyelashes innocently.

"Of course not."

Nimueh said nothing, as if letting the lie have a moment to hang conspicuously in the air. "Right or wrong, you never had a chance, you know," she said. "This kingdom was built on magic. Camelot itself cannot be separated from it. That's why everything's gone so horribly wrong since the purge. Not just the murder of children, but the balance. Uther was a fool not to see that. It could only be restored by fanatics like Morgause."

Gaius's raised brow twitched. "And you," he shot back. "Now Morgana."

A light flickered in Nimueh's eyes. "Oh, Morgause's name upsets you, does it?" she swung closer to him, and Gaius's neck tightened further. "Yes…you haven't used magic in years…" she was circling him now. He did his best not to move away. "And now that you _have_? How does it feel?"

He met her stare. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Nimueh frowned sharply. "I knew, Gaius. I always knew. Why else would you have listened to Uther in the first place?" she was close enough for Gaius to smell her vile breath, too sweet, like dyed roses. "Magic _ruined_ you," she hissed in his ear.

Finally he stood, getting as far away from her as he dared. "No."

"We were friends once, Gaius," she growled. "I remember you, always buried in your scrolls, hungry for knowledge and then power. You betrayed us because the power betrayed _you_."

"Stop this," for the first time, Gaius heard himself losing control over his voice. It cracked and shook and the way she was glaring at him didn't help at all.

"Your body was broken after that year, right before Arthur was born…" Nimueh shook her head, "Then you came to me for help, wringing your hands on my doorstep and lashing out spells every which way that you didn't even mean to, begging for something to keep it tamed before you collapsed, writhing on the ground." her lips twisted. "You were not the first man I'd seen who couldn't handle magic, Gaius, but I had never seen anything quite like _that_."

"I didn't summon you," Gaius gasped out, feeling the awful memories race through his head, "I don't need to hear this."

She ignored him. "Arthur was born and Ygraine took his place, and when Uther needed someone to blame you were _more_ than desperate enough to join him," her eyes were bright with fire, and Gaius felt himself crumple. "Thought the land needed purging as well…" he grabbed blindly for the wall and leaned against it. "You're not Uther, Gaius," Nimueh continued quietly, "But while I was alive I got the chance to remind him exactly what he was, a disgusting hypocrite and masquerading father. Until now, though, I never got the chance to remind _you_. You, who sold out your friends to dull the headaches—"

"I'm doing my best," he whispered. "I'm trying to fix it."

After a pause, a bitter edge echoed her words. "You mean the boy."

"_Merlin_," saying his name gave Gaius the courage to meet her eyes again. "His name is Merlin."

Her face held no expression. Instead, she lifted herself onto the table and stretched out on her back. "You believe in him?"

"He's meant to reunite the land of Albion."

"Albion," Nimueh said slowly, a flicker of disgust in her hooded eyes. "Tell me, Gaius, what do you think Albion _is_, anyway?"

He was so startled by the question for a moment he could not speak. A musical, bone-dry laugh left Nimueh's throat. "A land where magic and humanity are reunited once more? A time of total peace and harmony? Please, Gaius. You don't believe in that nonsense any more than I do."

True fury flared in Gaius's chest for the first time. "That boy defeated _you_. He's saved this kingdom from countless threats and doesn't even have contempt for _Uther_. He's stronger than all of you have ever been—"

"I am not talking about the boy!" she jolted up from the table. It was a sight Gaius had never seen. Whatever else she'd been, Nimueh had always known how to keep calm. "I'm talking about the promise. I'm talking about the Druids and the Catha and thousands more of the Old Religion who believe all of this won't have been in vain, that we didn't suffer through the Purge for nothing. All for _Albion_. Why do you think I fought so hard to stop Merlin?" Gaius couldn't tear away his gaze from her begging eyes, asking desperate questions that he had no answers for, "It's a dream, Gaius. A dream that won't be worth the reality."

When Gaius finally opened his mouth to respond, his voice did not waver. "No, Nimueh. You just lost the will to fight for it."

Her face was blank and her eyes grew flat. "That world you wish for," she looked down at the floor, "—even if it _does_ come, will end bloody as the last did. The world will keep turning, those afraid of magic will keep allowing us to die and soon we'll be nothing but songs and stories of a time far away. Camelot will fall. Albion will break."

"But at least they will have been here at all," Gaius said. Nimueh stared back up at him. "I think you underestimate the power of stories and songs."

A cold gust of wind overcame his lungs.

He awoke coughing in his bed and looked around at his chamber. His eyes paused over the cracked glass from potion bottles and torn-through books Morgana's army left behind, wondering how long it would take to fix the whole mess up.

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**I know very little about the original Arthurian legend, but from the show, that's what I've gathered Albion to be. If it doesn't actually make sense, let me know! :D**

**The Next Dream: A very drunk Gwaine wanders away from the soldiers and finds himself falling to sleep by a certain magical lake.**


	4. Gwaine and Freya

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine, nor is the song they sing, Health to the Company, mine. Warnings: Hi guys! Okay, this one can be seen as sort of a prequel to my other story, Have Been and Could Be, but you don't have to read that first (although, if you like this one, that one has similar themes, check it out!). **

**Setting: Sometime after Lancelot dies, and sometime before Gaius is kidnapped, Gwaine gets very drunk and winds up falling asleep on the bank of a certain magical lake****.**

* * *

Gwaine and Freya

It was the fifth cup of wine that did him in.

"LET US DRINK AND BE MERRY, ALL GRIEF TO REEEEFRAIN—"

Gwaine couldn't remember exactly how he ended up in the unfamiliar forest, but he _did_ remember it was five cups.

"FOOOOR WE MAY OR MIGHT NEVERRRR ALL MEET HERE AAAGAIN!"

His less-than-melodic voice rang out through the night and shook a few leaves from their branches as he threw back his head and stretched his arms wide. Then he stumbled into a clearing and saw the lake.

As lakes went, it should have been the normal sort of lake, but on that bright, cloudless night, the lake opened wide before him might as well have been a mirror of and a pathway into some beautiful unknown. All was deep midnight in blue, purple, and the green of the guardian trees. The water reflected the stars back onto every other surface in sight. Gwaine's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped.

Then he smiled and let his body sway to the ground so he could cradle his head in the crook of his arm to fall peacefully asleep.

* * *

"And if ever we meet again, on land or on sea," the voice singing was far off, but it was very pretty, "...I will always remember your kindness to me,"

Gwaine blinked. The world was on its side.

He sat up slowly and breathed in cool air. The lake still stretched out in front of him and somehow looked even more gorgeous now that he was sober. And there was the voice, edging the breeze.

The voice belonged to a girl.

It took Gwaine a second to spot her. She was wearing a floaty dress the exact same color as the dark lake and sky, almost as if she was somehow molded to the scenery. She was leaping from stone to stone through the lake with her toes, and when she glanced up, even at a distance he saw that she was pretty as her voice. "You're Gwaine, is that right?" she called.

"How'd you know that song?" Gwaine blurted out.

Her dress was held up above her knees and she kept skipping until she got nearer. Gwaine stared at her bare feet and realized that she wasn't, in fact, jumping from stone to stone. She was leaping across the surface of the water. There was nothing there.

"A friend of mine comes by here and sings it sometimes," she said, glancing up and smiling at him. Gwaine didn't expect her to look so young. "I learned the words eventually." Her eyes were round and strikingly dark, with a sort of calm in them that spoke of age, but she was just a kid, holding up a skirt that was too long for her.

"How did you know my name?" Gwaine asked.

"My name's Freya," she responded, as if she'd already answered the question.

"Err, nice to meet you?"

"I'm a friend of Merlin's," she continued, and kept skipping across the water as if it was solid.

Gwaine blinked a few times. "You know Merlin? And…wait, _how_ are you _doing_ that?"

"Oh, sorry," Freya said quickly, but kept jumping all around. "It's just that I don't get a chance to be in my body much, so whenever I do, I've got to move around as much as I can."

"…So _how_ are you doing that?"

"It's my lake," was her unnerving answer.

"What does—" but Gwaine was distracted from his frustration after noticing the sudden curls of fog rolling across the surface of the water, "…where'd all the mist come from?"

This time, Freya's easy expression blanched a little. "It tends to follow me around."

Bewildered, Gwaine opened his mouth to ask his hundredth question when he glanced down one more time at the mist. It was true. If he squinted his eyes enough, he could see the mist moving in tendrils, tendrils that wrapped around Freya's ankles and snaked out behind her feet across the lake, almost as if chaining her to the water.

"What happened to you?" Gwaine asked, his voice almost in a hush this time.

Freya shrugged. "Merlin didn't know what would happen if he put me here. It's alright," she cut him off from speaking. "I'm sure there are _far_ worse places to spend your afterlife."

"You're dead?" he felt dumbfounded.

"You're dreaming, Gwaine," she said calmly. "You don't have to worry about the details," she resumed her leaping, this time on one foot. "I love it here, it's just a little lonely. But since you were close to the lake, I called you over. Thought we could talk."

"About what?" Gwaine asked cautiously.

"Merlin," Freya responded, meeting his eyes this time before one more jump.

Something in Gwaine's chest tightened, the way it always did when he thought about Merlin. "What happened with him?" he tried to keep his voice from a growl.

A warm smile curved her eyes before she looked down. "We almost left Camelot together." It was _not_ the answer Gwaine was expecting. "It doesn't matter now," she shook her head, long damp hair sprinkling drops around her shoulders in something like a halo, and lifted her gaze back up to Gwaine. "I called you here because I need you to look after him for me."

_That_ wasn't the answer Gwaine was expecting either. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, if he only had Arthur to worry about, he could take care of himself just fine," Freya bent her knees and sat down on one of the invisible stepping stones, now level with Gwaine, "—but this is bigger than us. He's got the entire kingdom weighing on his back and no one to shoulder it with him. Gaius is getting old, and Lancelot's dead. I do what I can from here, but I'm limited," she raised an acrobatic ankle. Gwaine could see the chain of mist tied around it and hanging down to the water. "Morgana's not someone he can face alone, she was too close to him. It's the same kind of evil that killed me and he can't do this without help anymore."

For a moment, Gwaine couldn't speak. "Why is it his job to fight it?" he finally croaked.

Freya's gaze remained steady. "I can't tell you that. But I think you know he's different. You know he's got it in him."

Gwaine swallowed. He _did_ know. "Right, fine. Merlin's strong, and he needs help. Doesn't explain why you'd come to _me_. I'm a drunk, I'm the knights' bloody laughingstock, why not Leon? He's more reliable, Percival's stronger, Elyan's an overall better person, even _Arthur_ would do a better job of it than I would."

Freya twitched, and her lips twisted in an off smile. "Well, Arthur wouldn't take to kindly to seeing me again if I called him here, he sort of killed me. As for the others," she continued softly, without giving any time for Gwaine to process that information, "…they care about him. But not the way Gaius does, not the way Lancelot did, and _especially_ not the way you do."

Gwaine's eyes widened. A thousand protestations leapt from his throat, but one steady look from Freya silenced them all. Denying it was pointless. She already knew. "You'll protect him," she said.

And before he could think or decide, Gwaine found himself nodding. Freya smiled, looking even more lovely than before.

"You won't be alone in this," she lifted herself to her feet and walked closer. "I'll be here if you need me, and I'll watch out for you as best I can," Gwaine looked up at her as she stood over him and laid a small cold hand on his head. "When you wake," she whispered, "—go back to the knights. Don't tell Merlin you've seen me."

The air around Gwaine suddenly cooled and shifted. He saw the mist off the lake change direction and roll towards him just as Freya turned around and continued happily skipping across the water. "My footsteps may falter," her sweet singing voice drifted to Gwaine's ears, "My wit, it may fail. My course may be challenged—"

"—by November gale," Gwaine sang out. She turned her head, surprised, and grinned. He grinned back as they continued the verse.

"Ere fortune may prove to be friend, or be foe…" The mist began to race in looping clouds towards Gwaine, surrounding him, rushing into his lungs—the world went dark…

When he opened his eyes, he was on the bank of the lake, but the stars and Freya were gone.

He finished the verse, and thought he heard another voice on the air.

"You will always be with me, wherever I go…"

* * *

**The Next Dream: Leon dreams of someone he didn't expect to ever see again, or to get the chance to thank for saving his life.**


	5. Leon and the Druid

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine. Warnings: I'm writing this one kind of late at night, so if it makes no sense, let me know. **

**Setting: After the Immortal Army is defeated, Leon has doubts about all Uther has taught him. In his sleep, he gets the chance to thank the man who saved his life****.**

* * *

Leon and The Druid

Leon grew up behind the city walls. They weren't scents he should have recognized, but he did. Something sharply sweet, then something earthy and strange, like foreign smoke or coal, and then the damp rock of a cave.

"It's good to see you again, Sir Leon of Camelot."

That voice wasn't a voice Leon should have heard before. But he had.

He opened his eyes and found himself smiling up at a man in dark green robes he thought he'd never see again. The man had blonde and gray hair and a tan, weathered face that somehow reminded him of an old eagle, kind, wise and sharp.

And Leon couldn't breathe.

"I don't know whether I was hoping for this moment or dreading it," he finally said, exhaling shakily.

The man had a warm smile and eyes that could be trusted. "And now that it's here?"

Leon's eyes widened. "You're not angry at me?"

The man's expression did not change. "You told Uther we saved your life."

"And about the _Cup_."

"You weren't to know what would happen to us," the man shook his head. "You haven't forgiven yourself since, have you?"

Leon glanced down. The druid symbol he remembered was there, tattooed on the man's hand. "No."

"Of course you haven't," the man said. "You're an honorable man, you feel the weight of your mistakes. But that's not why I'm here."

Leon frowned, feeling that particular stir of fear in his chest—fear of the unfamiliar, fear of what he'd never understood. "What is it, then?"

"You know more of that than I do, Sir Leon," the man's way of speaking was like few other men Leon had ever heard in his lifetime, and he couldn't explain why, "Understand—I could not come if you did not call. Hoping or dreading this meeting makes no difference. For one reason or other, you _had_ to see me." The man took a seat on a rock across from the flat slab where Leon lay. "Now, why would that be?"

Nonplussed, Leon's mouth parted. "I suppose…to thank you," he said, "…I never did thank you properly for saving my life."

The man's aged eyes met his. "I will forgive you, Sir Leon, because I don't believe you mean to lie to me."

"What?"

"Visitations like this aren't born out of goodwill. They're born of distress, of questions, sometimes of desperation." When the man leaned in closer, Leon saw that his eyes weren't angry. They were steady, and waiting. "Now. What is it that disturbs you about me?"

Leon's mouth moved on its own while those eyes drew out from his mouth everything his heart had been holding back. "Everything changed for me that day," he finally said.

"And why was that?"

"I was supposed to hate you, not feel grateful to you." Leon didn't mean for his voice to rise in volume.

The man only smiled. "I am sorry your world was thrown off balance so quickly, that must have been disorienting."

"I wasn't supposed to live," the words rushed out, "I was supposed to die a Knight of Camelot, one who believed in his kingdom's cause—"

"Yes, killing my kind."

Leon stopped cold.

"Sir Leon, if we believed you weren't a worthy man, we would not have saved you," the man said patiently. "Now, go on." Water drops fell and echoed in the cave and Leon glanced around, wondering if these were the places he'd forced them to live.

"I…I thought I came back a different person when you revived me," he said, almost in a whisper.

The man didn't look shocked. "Why?"

"It was…as if I couldn't listen to anyone speak without _questioning_ them in my head," Leon thought back, something black and tangled springing to life in the pit of his stomach, "—and as if there wasn't such thing as an enemy anymore."

For a moment, the man said nothing. When he did, his voice sounded strange. "Camelot's been grounded for years by the idea of 'enemy.' "

"You know," Leon felt a choking noise escape his throat, "…I set the Immortal Army on us. That was my doing for telling Uther in the first place, and he looked at me like I was a disease after he knew magic saved my life…but when we saw those inhuman soldiers coming, there was a part of me that was relieved," the tangle unraveled and spread to his lungs, the guilt thick like bile, "I was _relieved_ there was someone to fight again, someone to call evil. It did not matter to me that we were all about to die for my mistake, just as long as everything _made_ _sense_ again." The words couldn't stop themselves from spilling, and Leon looked up and hated that gaze the man fixed on him.

The druid didn't speak for a moment. Then, "You're not the first, Sir Leon, to feel as if the world would be a better place if it were colorless and simple," smoothly he stood and walked towards the flat stone that held the herbs and ingredients Leon had smelled earlier, "—but unfortunately, such a world would have me dead, and I am very sick and tired of being hunted by those who refuse to accept a world without sense."

Leon blinked and felt dizzy. "What?"

"I came here because I am exhausted," he continued calmly, grinding some of the herbs with the mortar and pestle, "—and I do not have the strength left to defend my people from yours any longer,"

"…You came here to tell _me_ this?"

"Yes," the man whirled around, something like aggression in his stance for the first time, "Because those raised in Camelot, like you, refuse to understand that there is no true enemy, and no true hero, among them. You were better than most—you allowed the _idea_ of a mistake in judgment to enter your head."

Leon shook his head almost wildly. "I still have no idea what it is you're telling me—"

"I am telling you to _live_ in the uncertainty," the man cut him off, "…and to teach the others behind those city walls to do the same. You _should_ be asking questions. You _should_ be wondering why the endings don't fit," he turned back to the mortar and lowered his voice, "And you don't have to die a man who never lost faith in his kingdom's cause."

Leon gaped at the man. The only sounds in the cave were the drips of the water and the grinding of the pestle, and everything felt suddenly lighter.

The guilt wasn't gone from his stomach. But the bile was. His insides no longer felt like they were twisting to harm him.

Maybe. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, living in a world with more than two sides on every battlefield.

"I never learned your name," Leon finally said.

The man glanced back over his shoulder, and his smile was as warm as it was the moment Leon first set eyes on him. "Iseldir."

"Well, Iseldir…" Leon bowed his head, "Thank you for saving my life."

Iseldir's eyes twinkled and he put a hand inside the mortar. "You're welcome, Sir Leon of Camelot," he lifted it to reveal a brown paste on his fingers. "This will wake you up," he smeared the paste onto Leon's forehead, saying some foreign prayer while Leon closed his eyes, "…and will allow you to remember our visit."

And Leon did remember when he woke, relieved to find himself in his own bed, in a world with blinding color that still made no sense.

* * *

**The Next Dream: I've got a few ideas...but I'm not sure which one I'll do next. It'll be a surprise :D**


	6. Morgana and Gwen

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine. Warnings: This one was tough to wrap my brain around. I've wanted to write a piece with these two for forever, but I'm not sure I did them justice, it was really difficult to write. Hope you guys like it anyway.**

**Oh, another warning for this one-it's definitely post-Have Been and Could Be, my other story, so if there are a few references you don't understand because they weren't in the show, that's why. I realized I couldn't write Morgana without going back to HBCB, but you don't have to read it to read this one. Just a heads-up if a line or two seems confusing.**

**Setting: After Morgana is dethroned the second time, she finds herself in a dream of a place where Gwen's her servant again instead of the queen****.**

* * *

Morgana and Gwen

The light was golden white, so blinding that Morgana couldn't see whether the bed she sat on was in her hideaway chamber in the castle of Fyrien or in her old, decorous quarters in Camelot.

A silhouette moved gracefully in the bright. Morgana could barely see her, but she knew who it was. "I look forward to falling asleep sometimes," she said to the figure, "…when I think you'll come to see me."

Gwen glanced up from the linens she was folding and smiled. "Hello, Morgana." Her outline was clearer now, and Morgana could see what Gwen was wearing—her lavender dress.

"I haven't seen you in that old thing for years,"

Gwen lifted her arm and examined her tattered, draping sleeve. "I haven't _worn_ it in years," she admitted. "I suppose this is how you want to remember me."

Morgana let her eyes dart from Gwen's. "I tried to kill you in most of the others."

Gwen twisted her mouth, bit her lower lip, and kept folding. "I know." Neither of them said a word for a moment until Gwen dropped the laundry and exhaled. "How long has it been since you slept?" she turned and met Morgana's eye.

"A few days."

An intake of breath, then a sharp, stubborn little nod. "Right," Gwen said abruptly, standing and striding over to the fireplace Morgana wasn't sure had been there before.

"What on earth are you doing, Gwen?"

"My job," she responded firmly, lifting a kettle off the flame as if it hadn't come from nowhere. "You should get your rest."

"You are a _queen_," Morgana snapped, though she found herself trembling. "It's _not your job_ to look after me anymore, not after—" she couldn't finish the sentence.

Gwen's dark eyes pierced hers. "In here it _is _my job." And she poured the contents of the kettle—milk, it looked like—into the stone mug that rested on the nightstand. Her back was turned, and Morgana stared at the dark curve of her neck, and the twisting curls that escaped the knot of her hair. Honey and vanilla floated around her—Gwen always added those to milk to help Morgana sleep.

She leaned forward and breathed the scent in, pressed her fingers to her temples, shocked to find the headaches were gone. "Did you find a place to hide?" Gwen's voice interrupted her thoughts as she turned.

Morgana nodded, accepting the milk Gwen held out to her. "Mhm…the bed there hurts my back, but it's enough. I miss you," she didn't even mean to say it, but once it was out of her mouth she realized she didn't care. Pride was a waste of time.

Gwen didn't say anything until she walked behind her, taking Morgana's shoulders in her hands. "I miss you too," she said quietly, kneading her back the way she used to. "The castle's such a different place without you…"

Morgana closed her eyes and breathed deep, the mug resting forgotten in her lap. "It was a different place without you, too." Gwen's fingers were rough and deliberate, just how she remembered them, sending shivers through her muscles and down her spine, making Morgana wonder for the thousandth time how skin could do this to skin. "But you're ruling over it now," she managed a smile. "It's bound to look a little new."

A pause, then Gwen let out a tiny snort. "Do you know every time they fit me in a new gown I always have to imagine what you'd think of it first before I agree to try it on?"

Morgana's brow's shot up as she turned to look at her. "Really?"

Gwen nodded, shaking her head and grinning. "Really," her mouth twitched. "You try to kill me, and I still want your wardrobe advice."

It was ridiculous, but Morgana found herself convulsing with laughter. She glanced up and saw that Gwen was covering her own mouth, trying to hold her own back.

"How—" Morgana gasped, "…did we ever get here?"

Gwen shook her head, giggling almost desperately. "I have no idea…" she dropped her forehead onto Morgana's shoulder. The two of them laughed until all the air was gone from their lungs and they felt spent and lost.

Morgana finally spoke into the silence. "How is Arthur?" she'd been wondering about it for weeks. "And being married?" the question came out more hesitant than she planned.

Gwen looked down and nodded. "He's fine. Being married is…" she inhaled slowly, "—different."

Morgana stared at her, realization slamming against her chest. "We've…never been able to talk about this, have we?"

"No," a wry smile twisted Gwen's mouth as she sat down next to her. "There were a lot of things we couldn't talk about."

"For the longest time, I never even knew you were seeing him…" Morgana shook her head. "How could I have missed that?"

Gwen hung her head back and blinked up at the ceiling. "How could I have missed what was happening to you?"

Nothing could be seen through the window, but Morgana's eyes drifted to stare out it anyway, as if it were a seer's glass that held all the answers. "If I'd just told you then," she began, "If I just told you that night I accidentally set my drapes on fire—"

"That was you?" Gwen's eyebrows rose.

"—then maybe we wouldn't have ended this way." Morgana felt like she couldn't breathe. Closing her eyes, trying to steady herself, she said it. "Is _that_ how we got here?"

Gwen looked straight ahead, avoiding Morgana's stare. "We were scared," she replied slowly. "We were growing up and we were scared."

"It can't be that simple," Morgana choked. "I tried to _kill_ you."

"Of course it's not that simple," Gwen's eyes were bloodshot—Morgana hadn't noticed it before, "Not out _there_. But we're _dreaming_, Morgana. For _once_, can't it be that simple here?"

Morgana couldn't believe what she saw in front of her. "You haven't been sleeping either."

A bitter laugh escaped Gwen's throat. "No. No, I have not."

"This…this is _your_ dream, too?"

Gwen nodded tightly. "Well. Nothing's been easy lately."

"Why?" Morgana's eyes widened. "You won. You're out of exile, you're married, you're their queen, what went wrong?"

"Think back to when _you_ were their queen, Morgana," she sounded as if she wanted to snap at her. "What _didn't_ go wrong?"

Morgana couldn't argue that.

"Elyan finding that bracelet in his cell didn't help either," Gwen continued drily.

A pang shot through Morgana's chest. "He told you about that?"

"He told me everything. After he put the pieces together, that is. Arthur has no idea what to think of me now."

"_What?_ It should have _cleared_ you—"

Gwen shook her head. "No. You were right. He can't get rid of that doubt now, in me or in himself. If I was innocent all along, then he's the one at fault. And if he wasn't insecure enough already, he is now," suddenly, she smiled. "That's the one thing you've done I can't even _blame_ you for. If I'd known myself better, and if he'd known me at all, neither of us would have been fooled by what happened with Lancelot."

Morgana felt her hands tighten into a fist. "He doesn't deserve you," she growled. "He never did."

"No, Morgana," Gwen sighed, "—he's just lost like we are."

"Do you hear yourself right now, Gwen?" she demanded. "That you're defending him? The way you could defend even _Uther_? It's just more proof that you're better than the whole of Camelot. You always were."

Gwen didn't speak for a while, and Morgana had nothing else to say. "He misses you."

Morgana turned to her. "What?"

"Arthur misses you. I think he always did, I mean, he's got Merlin, and he's got me, but every now and then I think he wants his older sister back to tease him and tell him what to do," Gwen's eyes flickered up to Morgana's and then away again, "For what it's worth, you'd have made a good king of him."

Morgana felt like she was holding down her whole heart when she swallowed. "And Gwaine?" her words came out stilted. "How is he?"

Gwen's eyes searched Morgana's before she answered. "I don't know what happened between you both," she said, "—but he takes it all much more seriously now."

The world before them suddenly snapped before Morgana's eyes, and the brightness began to slowly dim. Her gaze shot back to Gwen. "We're about to wake up, aren't we?"

Gwen pursed her lips and nodded, eyes wide and grim. "I think so."

"I miss them too," Morgana blurted out before she could stop herself. "Tell them that, if you can."

Gwen smile was weak. "I will."

The room darkened further.

Morgana grabbed Gwen's hand. "Will I ever get to see you again when I'm awake?"

"I wish I knew that far ahead, Morgana," Gwen whispered. She stood, tearing her hand away. "You were the one who always knew what would come."

When she woke, Morgana felt something warm and bright slipping from her fingertips. She reached back with her mind for what she held in her dreams, only to find an image floating before her eyes.

It was Gwen's face, turning away from her. Then she heard Gwen's voice, and words echoing around her ears. _Of course it's not that simple. Not out there_…

* * *

**The Next Dream: All I know so far is that it'll be one of Uther's.**


	7. Uther, Merlin, and the Witch

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine.**

**I haven't written anything this plot-centric in a long time, so I hope it's readable. And I think this is the longest of my dreams, too, so warning about that as well. This idea has been stirring in my head for a while, because Uther's history and Morgause's birth shouldn't make sense. Morgause is older than Arthur, older than Uther's hatred of magic, so why would Uther want her dead before that? Why would Gaius feel the need to hide her? This is the story I came up with. They barely mention the names of Ygraine, Gorlois, and Vivienne in the show, so I hope it didn't all get too confusing and I hope you guys like this one. **

**Setting: Immediately before the Season Three finale****.**

* * *

Uther, Merlin, and the Witch

Uther opened his eyes to find his chambers so dark it could still have been night outside, but there was a pleasant voice intruding this observation, claiming it was a "Good morning, sire." He raised a sharp brow.

The source of the voice wasn't unfamiliar. "You're Arthur's boy," Uther said slowly, with narrowed eyes.

The boy nodded and tied back the second drape, though it made no difference to the dim light in the room. "His servant, that I am, your majesty."

Uther had come across the lanky, large-eared boy several times—put him in the stocks before, and there was that incident when he lied about having magic to save that serving girl, and then there was the time he had saved Uther's life by talking Arthur down from killing him. Yet, for all this, he could _never_ remember the boy's name.

"What are you doing here?" Uther demanded, frowning around the room. "Where is George?"

"He's not here, sire. I'm taking his duties today," the boy replied.

"And who will wait on your _prince_ today?"

The boy had a warm and wry smile on his face. "Hopefully, Arthur can manage not to get himself killed while I'm gone."

Though shocked at the casual and mocking reference a mere servant dared make of his royal son, Uther was even more shocked to find himself feeling absolutely no anger towards the insolent boy. It was a very cloudy, very odd morning indeed.

"Can I get you anything else, sire?" the boy asked. Uther shook himself out of reverie and stopped staring.

"Those floors are in need of washing. If I see a single spot of dirt left on them when you're through, boy, you'll find yourself without a job," Uther grunted half-heartedly.

A pail full of soapy water appeared in the boy's hands that Uther did not remember being there before. "Of course, majesty," came the cheery reply as the boy sank to his knees and began attacking the floor with a scrubbing brush.

Then the door swung open.

"_Geásce eall_," the voice slithered into the room. Uther jumped back, slamming his shoulder against his headboard. Someone, hooded and cloaked in dark, was standing at the door, aiming an outstretched hand at the boy.

"Turn around!" Uther croaked out, frozen with horror. "_Guards!_" The boy didn't listen, didn't even seem to notice the cloaked figure. He kept scrubbing the floor. No footsteps echoed down the hall.

Something was very wrong.

A chilling laugh came from under the hood. "He can't hear you, Uther."

It was a woman's voice. "Who are you?" Uther growled. He glared at her with what he hoped looked like strength, when he felt as though all his power was being sapped from his veins. The sword hanging from his wall had vanished and the guards were nowhere near.

He was afraid.

He couldn't remember being so afraid.

"Surely you haven't forgotten me?" she drawled, pulling back the hood. A sharp face, large black eyes, thin mouth and long, gorgeous waves of blonde hair—unlike Arthur's serving boy, Uther had only seen this woman once in his lifetime, but he had never forgotten her name.

"Morgause."

She smiled coldly. "Wonderful to see you again, Uther." Her voice reminded the king of a velvet rope, looping around each one of her words as if they were flawless and smooth, rather than barbed and lethal.

"Come any closer and I'll have you burned," he hissed.

"And who will light your pyre?" Morgause asked, frowning with curiosity as if she actually cared what the answer was. "I've enchanted this conversation, you see. No one can hear us, or see us," she glanced over at the boy scrubbing the floor, "…not even dear Merlin, here."

_Merlin_. "…How did you know what he was called?" Uther asked, so nonplussed that for a moment he forgot to be furious.

Morgause's thin lips curved into a sharp smile. "This boy has been quite the thorn in my side of late. Insists on defending Arthur with his life to an absurd degree, it's rather meddlesome." Merlin dropped the scrub-brush into the pail of water, completely oblivious. Uther's heart sank at the sight and clutched his bedpost tighter. The boy, the thorn in Morgause's side, couldn't help him.

"Why are you here?" He was unarmed and at her mercy—there was no point in pretending otherwise.

Her smile was real this time, reaching her dark eyes and almost sparkling. "Only to talk, Uther," she moved closer. "You must understand that, the next time I see you, I'll be leaving you all to her. Before that happens, I wanted my own time with you alone."

A chill Uther couldn't understand ran through his bones at the word _her_. "What?" he asked weakly.

"You'll understand soon enough," Morgause's gaze hardened and held him motionless. "First, though, I've been waiting for this a long time."

A twinge of irritation broke the pattern of fear. "Do you know how many speeches sorcerers like you have made to me?" Uther turned his eyes away, as if finding her less worthy of consideration. "What I've done, I've done for the safety of my own kingdom. You haven't killed me yet, none of you have, and the only threat you pose is to my subjects. _I will not yield_. Magic and its servants will never have a place in my land."

"Then magic will return to Camelot soon enough. It won't be your land for long," Morgause's silk voice could slice through metal, "…But I wasn't speaking of your crimes to my people. I was speaking of your crimes to _me_, personally."

Uther raised a brow. "To you? I had never seen you in my life before you stormed into my palace and threw a gauntlet down at my son."

Morgause leaned against the wardrobe across from him. Her expression seemed to shift somehow. "I was always told I have my father's eyes. Would you agree?"

Shock was the first. Then pain, then guilt, then fury, but Uther couldn't name every emotion that streamed through his body at that statement. "Yes," he whispered before he could stop himself. Large eyes, so dark they were almost black, flickered back at him. Gorlois's eyes. Gorlois's eyes set in a harsh feminine face that didn't otherwise resemble him at all.

In the corner of the room, the boy Merlin began to whistle while he scrubbed.

"Yes," Morgause continued, sparing an amused glance at the tuneful servant, "…I forgot you haven't seen me since you learned who I was. Gorlois was your best friend, was he not?"

"You ask me such questions as if you don't already know the answers to them," Uther seethed. The whistling grated on his nerves.

Morgause lifted her chin. "True. Then let me ask a question I _don't_ know the answer to—how much do you remember of my birth?"

Uther's throat felt suddenly tightened. "Very little," he responded shortly.

"Don't lie to me," and seeing that flash of gold, seeing _magic_ spark in those eyes he used to know so well, shook Uther to his core.

"Gorlois came to me panicked," he said through grinding teeth. "He wouldn't tell me what was the matter until I swore to meet him in dead of night. That was when he brought the baby."

"You mean the bastard daughter that he was afraid his witch of a wife would kill?" Morgause arched a brow and Uther flinched. "Funny, Uther," she continued, "…how attracted you always were to women with magic, considering how many you'd kill later in your life."

His eyes shot back to her, wider and bulging. "What on earth do you—"

"_Morgana_," the witch held his gaze. "She's your daughter, is she not?"

Uther shook his head, vision flooded by black terror. "Get out," he breathed.

"And Vivienne the Witch was her mother," Morgause smiled as if he hadn't spoken. "My father's vicious wife…you see _I know_, Uther. I only just recently learned it, but now I know, and it all makes so much sense now."

"You have no idea what you are talking about."

"No, Uther," her eyes were hard and level. "_You_ have no idea. Not the vaguest notion of all the damage you've cause in your miserable life. You have no idea you killed my mother."

"Your _mother_?" Uther jerked back, stunned.

"Yes, Uther, my mother."

He shook his head fervently. "No, I never even knew who she was, Gorlois never told me…"

"—No," Morgause's voice sharpened, "He didn't. But you knew her well." She paused, stepping even nearer to the foot of his bed. "Surely you recall my first visit to Camelot when I asked Arthur to meet me?"

"Of course I do," he snapped.

"Then you'll recall that he agreed to the terms after I told him how I knew _his_ mother?"

"I don't care how you—" then he froze. Uther Pendragon's mouth hung open, but could not say a word.

Morgause nodded slowly, her black eyes stabbing into him, confirming the horrifying suspicion in his heart. "After Gorlois introduced you to Ygraine, you remember, don't you?" The magic seemed to seep from every inch of her, and Uther felt as if he was breathing poisoned air. "She had to leave the country for a year, on 'diplomatic business,' so she said," Morgause bitterly went on. _Lethal_, Uther thought. Those words were lethal. "You were already in love with her while she was waiting to have Gorlois's child. Your wife's bastard daughter."

"Not you," Uther no longer felt frozen. Everything trembled, down to his speaking and quivering lips. "Not you…"

The smile Morgause wore now was real, curving her eyes, plying the dim light and dark shadows of the room until she looked almost warm. It was inhuman. "So, you have a child with Gorlois's wife after he had one with yours. You four were an odd set, weren't you? Well…one of the last two pieces left of your beloved Ygraine De Bois," she whispered, bending down until at level with Uther, "—has _magic_. All that you despise. Tell me, Pendragon," her head tilted to one side to examine him, "…is there anything in your life that _isn't_ a lie?"

He had no answer for her. For a moment, the room held its breath. Uther's heart stopped in his chest and even the serving boy's whistling ceased.

Morgause wasn't lying. Uther knew then that the sorceress in front of him was his wife's daughter. "You look like her," the words stole from his throat.

Pain blanched the witch's face. "She came to visit me," her eyes drifted far away. "After you left me with Gaius, who thought it would be safer for me if you believed me dead, they couldn't find me. Then you took her for a wife. She and Gorlois went behind your back for years of searching before they finally found me again. And whenever you were away, she'd come to the Isle of the Blessed and spend whole weeks with me. She was so lovely…"

"I know," Uther choked out.

All the warmth left Morgause's eyes. "And you took her from me." Every word was laced with ice. "For years, I waited for her without knowing she was dead. Then, one day, Gorlois comes and takes me to his home, where I meet a girl. A beautiful girl, with black hair, and green eyes…" there was that chill again, that unfamiliar chill, down Uther's spine, "—and Gorlois whispers to me that she's my sister. He didn't even know that it wasn't true, that his wife was as false as he."

"Arthur," Uther tried to sit up, but the world was swiveling and jerking sideways before his eyes, "Arthur's your…"

"Brother?" Morgause asked coolly. "No, Arthur Pendragon and I may share blood, but he's no brother of mine. At least he _had_ a parent. Morgana's more kin to me than he'll ever be. She and I are bastards raised on empty oaths. We were the disowned." Her cloak's hem skimmed the floor as she neared him once again, now only inches away from him.

Uther could see every line in her skin, every sharp facial bone, and she was too cold. She shouldn't have looked like Ygraine. But she did.

"…And we'll make you pay for that, Pendragon," she whispered. Her voice was guttural now, harsh and scraping, and Uther couldn't turn his wide eyes from her, "_We'll make you pay_ for leaving us with no one."

"Right, then," Uther snapped his head to the side, and Morgause followed suit in the direction of the new, strong voice. "That's enough."

And Uther couldn't believe what he saw.

_What was his name?_

…Merlin.

The serving boy in the corner had been completely forgotten. But now he stood, turned to face them, and looked anything but enchanted or oblivious. He stared unflinchingly at Morgause, whose disbelieving frown strained her entire frame. She held up a shocked arm and started to shout a hex, but the boy got there first. He raised a hand and soundlessly the gold of magic flooded his eyes. A gust of air so loud it could have been solid suddenly snapped and latched around Morgause. Her spine suddenly stiffened, her eyes went blank, and she fell flat on her back to the floor.

Merlin stood over her, expression unreadable, shaking his head.

Uther didn't blink for fear the boy would suddenly vanish and leave him on his own again. "You…you saved my…"

"She wouldn't have killed you," Merlin interrupted. "She told you that herself. There's someone else she wants you to see before that happens." Lightening suddenly crashed outside that oddly dark window. Uther leapt from the bed, almost stepping on Morgause's unconscious body.

Then he gasped to see her figure thinning, becoming transparent, almost like a ghost.

"What is that?" he pointed a trembling finger at her.

Merlin's mouth tightened. "This is a dream. She's about to wake up. I can't stay here long."

Uther's mouth gaped. "I don't understa—"

"I heard Morgause was coming here," Merlin interrupted him again. For his savior, Uther couldn't help but realize how angry the boy's eyes were. "I thought she was planning to kill you, so I managed to get to her first. I drugged her and trapped her in a dream."

"This is…?" Uther gestured frantically around at the room.

Merlin nodded impatiently, staring at her disappearing frame. "I wanted to know what she was planning, so I locked you in here too. She had no idea she was asleep."

The shaking in Uther's chest slowly churned, morphing into rage. "You imprisoned me in my own mind—"

The boy's eyes didn't blink. "Are you going to find me a pyre, majesty?" he asked flatly.

"YOU _HEARD!_" Uther's voice erupted around the room, the stone walls beginning to crumble and fade, "You heard everything she _said_ to me—!"

"And _you_ needed to hear it," Merlin's voice was unbending. Those eyes still did not move. "I didn't know about her, I didn't know what she'd say. Now we both do. Something is coming, Uther, a betrayal far worse than Morgause, and you won't be ready to face it. Neither will Arthur, neither will Camelot."

All of this _had_ to be a dream. Uther couldn't believe any of it, none of it, not even with the weight of truth that felt as though it could crush his bones… "Who _are_ you?" he finally asked, staring at the boy, wondering if he was just another fiction, another mirage that would fade.

But Merlin still looked solid and real, even as he began walking towards the door. "I'm someone you've been trying to kill," he said over his shoulder, "—and I'm all you've got."

The door slammed shut and the walls fell away.

CLANG.

Uther felt the drench of cold sweat as he jerked awake, so fast that he saw stars. The clang exploded again. It was the warning bell.

When the soldiers he didn't recognize came and forced him at swordpoint from the room, they brought the king to the throne hall. Enemies surrounded the palace, hating eyes stared down at him from everywhere, and two women stood before him, one golden, one dark, smiling to see him bow.

They placed the crown on the dark girl's head. Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot.

As all hope drained away, Uther's dying eyes searched for the magic boy, the boy who saved him, boy they called Merlin.

He was nowhere to be found.

* * *

**It's always really bothered me how alike Morgause and Arthur looked when they shouldn't be related, so this was my explanation for it. In one of the versions of the Arthurian legend I came across the detail that Morgause was Ygraine's child with Gorlois before she married Uther. **

**I think this is going to be the last dream for a little while. Season Five is coming out soon, and I'm waiting on new ammo for dreams. There will be more characters coming in, and more relationships I can explore, so I'm looking forward to that. **

**Hope you guys review this, and that you enjoyed all of the dreams :D**


	8. Guinevere and Morgana

**I'm back :D holy god, I love this season. And sometimes hate it. And if they don't find a way to bring Gwen back from evilness I don't think I'll ever forgive Arthur or Merlin. Seriously, though...wow. Last night's ep was amazing. And I'm going to keep making dreams! Got an idea stirring for the next one, and I'm sure more will come as the new episodes keep coming. Thanks to everyone who's actually still reading this.**

**Disclaimer: Merlin's not mine.**

**Setting: Sometime after Gwen sets Sefa's execution, she tries to find her old friend. (and yes, I'm back for another round of these two, I can't stop writing them)**

* * *

Guinevere and Morgana

Every time her sleeping mind called out, Guinevere found herself entering the dream in a different place. This time, it was an open road, wet and dark from low hanging clouds that were either about to rain or already had. She was dressed in her dark red gown, embroidered with Pendragon gold. What she was wearing changed with every dream as well.

"I know you're here this time," the queen spoke aloud. She hadn't shouted, but the gray air reverberated around her words as though she had.

"Careful, Gwen," drawled a voice behind her. It was a voice she knew so well, a voice that could sprinkle like ash or curl like smoke. Guinevere whirled around to face it without a second thought. "With instincts like that, they'll start to suspect you're no different than me," Morgana continued from beneath her hood. Guinevere narrowed her eyes—all could see of the face was that slight smirk.

"You haven't come here for more than two years," the queen said slowly, realizing she'd already unclenched her fists. "I recognize the difference by now."

That smirk faded, and Guinevere didn't miss the way Morgana's jaw twisted. "You kept coming here—calling for me the whole time?" the smoke of her voice was clouded now.

"Of course I did," Guinevere frowned, trying to keep herself from snapping at the woman in front of her. "You know I did."

She couldn't have been sure, but she might have heard a sharp inhale from the witch, but when Morgana spoke next, her voice was liquid. "I apologize for your inconvenience. I was…unfortunately detained."

Now Guinevere was trying not to snort. "Detained for two _years_. I see." The cloaked figure made no response. "Put up your hood, Morgana, for heaven's sake," she lifted her chin to combat the very un-regally stubborn growl that kept threatening to edge her words.

A laugh burst from behind the shroud. A chill shot through Gwen—it was still Morgana's laugh, but it echoed differently, as though it were bone-dry. "As your highness commands," she answered, sweeping back the hood with a gloved hand.

Guinevere's mouth parted at the sight. Morgana looked, if possible, paler than ever before. Her every feature stood out even more sharply, striking, a horrible kind of gorgeous. As she stared, Guinevere also felt Morgana's own eyes surveying her for the first time past the hindrance of the hood. "My, what a queen you've turned out to be," she said quietly. Her eyes hadn't changed. Still peridot and perfect, unable to hide a thing.

Guinevere's skin crawled as she tried not to feel suddenly wrong in her heavy velvet gown, the kind she'd dressed Morgana in for so long. "You know whom I learned from," the comment came out easily. "Now where were you? Really."

"Locked away," Morgana said shortly.

"Somewhere you couldn't even dream?" Guinevere lifted her brows. "I find that hard to believe."

"You might have higher parapet to view the world from now, but that doesn't mean you know it any better," Morgana's eyes flashed before shifting away. "Certain depths can only be seen from the dirt ground. Yes, your _majesty_, there are places locked away from dreaming," she barked out a sudden harsh laugh that shivered through Gwen's spine. "Gaius should have shoved me away there when I was a child, it would've stabilized the nightmares better than his bloody sleeping draughts," those green eyes shot back to Guinevere, who straightened her neck under the up and down scrutiny, "—but look at _you_, stronger than ever…_clearly,_ dear Gwen, you've done just fine without me."

"And clearly you haven't," Guinevere returned, staring at the woman in front of her. "It changed you."

"Yes, imprisonment will do that."

"I'm aware. Tell me you haven't exactly forgotten _how_ I learned."

Morgana winced, though it was barely visible. If Gwen hadn't been watching closely, she wouldn't have caught it at all. "You were quite fortunate," Morgana's voiced almost seemed to slither, "—you always had someone there, close by, ready to set you free at any moment," at that, her legs seemed to buckle, and she collapsed to sit on the fallen dead tree next to their desolate road. "I was not so lucky," she continued, burning eyes fixed on the ground. "Not even _you_ would have come for me if you knew where I was."

The queen gazed unblinkingly at Morgana beneath her, crouched over her knees, looking spent and bitter, her black cloak turned gray by the veil of fog. It amazed Guinevere that, even after all Morgana had done, the witch could still make her feel guilty as a clumsy maidservant, one who had just spilled bath oil all over her lady's best dress. "Morgana…"

"Stop feeling sorry for me," Morgana lashed back. "Don't pretend you don't want to keep my throne, Guinevere. The crown along with everything that goes with it…power, a gorgeous palace, fine gowns, pretty serving girls to tie you in them…"

Guinevere's fist clenched automatically at that. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Morgana tilted her head up to meet Gwen's eyes again. "Little Sefa was lovely, wasn't she?" For a moment, Morgana almost looked lighter, almost happy. There was a twinkle in her eye and Guinevere felt sick.

"Did you enjoy imagining what that would do to me?" her voice shook.

Morgana's smile slipped off her mouth. "I didn't have to imagine my maidservant betraying me. That's an ugly road we've already walked down."

"And you," Guinevere seethed—she couldn't remember feeling so angry in her life, not since she swung that sword, "…made me walk it again alone. You made me relive it all over, all our ugly history, everything you did to me, that I did to you, _why_ did you send a serving girl? One who'd work for _me_?"

Morgana twitched her gaze away from her. "Ruadan was her father. She wanted to help him, and she didn't have a mark on her record. She was perfect, exactly who we needed to keep an eye on you and Arthur. I didn't plan it."

"Her father," a shrill, derisive laugh Guinevere almost didn't recognize as her own escaped her throat. "Could the symmetry be more complete? Think of everything you and I went through on account of our fathers!"

For a moment, Morgana said nothing, staring out at the still mist. "I take it you set Sefa's execution yourself," she eventually said.

The girl's young pretty face and terrified eyes passed through Guinevere's mind and all her fury dropped in an instant. "I did," she said tonelessly.

Morgana nodded, still looking off in the distance. "Would you have followed through with it?" she asked. "If Ruadan hadn't helped her escape?"

Guinevere didn't even hold back a scoff. "I only publicized Sefa's execution to lure him in and trap him, but I think I could have watched her die without blinking. Hated myself afterwards, yes, but I would have gone through with it. You taught me how."

Morgana's eyes shot back to hers and they widened as if she'd been stung. "Gwen—"

"_No_," Guinevere growled, her heart racing again. "Don't you dare, Morgana. Do you know what I saw when I looked at her? She was on her knees in front of me, I sentenced her, and all I could see was you. Then me. And if she'd burned, I have no idea who it would have been on that pyre, whose screams I'd have heard. So don't. You can't apologize for that."

Morgana blinked too fast and finally nodded shakily.

"Besides," Guinevere continued, feeling that strange laugh pushing through her lips again, "—I knew Ruadan would come for her, as my father would have come for me when _my_ mistress almost got me executed. As _Uther_ would have come for _his_ daughter, come for _you_."

At that, Morgana hissed as though she'd been bitten, snarled and leapt to her feet. "How dare you—"

"—Remind you Uther loved you? Remind you you're just like the man who killed my father? Why not?" Guinevere demanded, eyes too wide and losing their focus. "It's true and you know it! Nothing has changed, even with everything we've lost, don't you realize that? We haven't moved an inch, Morgana…we're doomed to it. We'll never leave this place, wherever _this place_ even is." she gestured wildly around at the ever-changing dream, at the gray and stretched road.

"You promised me," Morgana bounded towards Guinevere who steeled herself to meet her burning eyes, she was only inches away now, "—that things could be _simple_ here." Her voice a barbed hush, but from the way Guinevere felt herself trembling, Morgana might as well have screamed.

She was too close. Guinevere swallowed, wiped her face blank, and took one step back. "This _is_ simple," she said flatly, eyes drifting away. "At least in here we can't lie."

Out the corner of her vision, she saw the witch go completely still for a moment. "God, I've missed you," Morgana whispered darkly. Guinevere turned and stared, shocked to find Morgana looking entirely serious. She realized the witch was almost frail, like a thin rose petal still wrapped in thorns. "I've missed having you on my side…" her green eyes could still pierce like daggers, though her face was stricken and desperate as though she'd been thirsty for a decade. They locked the queen in place, she couldn't look away,"—having you _at_ my side," Morgana breathed as she stepped forward and lifted a hand to Guinevere's face.

The touch, so smooth even though ice cold, halted every word that sprang to Guinevere's mouth just as the sky seemed to thicken. The pale mist shifted and darkened to soft black rain around them and Morgana did not move her hand.

"Time to wake up," she said quietly, something like life back in her eyes.

Guinevere couldn't respond for a moment. "I started to remember these dreams less and less every time before you left," she finally said, rain sliding off her lips.

Morgana blinked and water sprinkled from her lashes. "Good," she said. "You shouldn't need to remember me like this." Her hand dropped from Guinevere's cheek and the black split open into golden morning.

Guinevere squinted at the light, groaning and pulling the sheets back over her head. She felt wonderfully warm, though slightly reluctant, as if she'd been ready to sleep for a year.

"Well, this is curious," a familiar, fond voice spoke from over her head.

Guinevere smiled and burrowed deeper into her pillow. "What's curious?" she grumbled.

The voice laughed. "You've been married to me three years, and in all that time, I don't ever recall a day when I was awake and out of bed _before_ you," she felt the sheets being tugged off from her head, but she kept her eyes shut tight.

"Then I'm entitled to an extra few hours," she grumbled. A light kiss was pressed to her cheek, and that's when Guinevere's eyes shot open.

Arthur, her golden husband, was standing over her, now frowning with concern. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

Guinevere sat up slowly, touching the cheek he'd kissed. It felt cold, and for a moment she almost wanted to claw at it, scrape her own skin. "No," she said eventually. "Nothing." She blinked twice. "Is there a council meeting today?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't believe so."

"Is it..." Guinevere bit her lip, trying to ground herself so she'd stop feeling like some drifting ghost, "—would you mind if I borrowed Elyan for the day?"

"Of course not, darling. What do you need him for?"

Guinevere blinked. "Our father," she answered, shocked to find herself telling the truth. "I thought Elyan would like to go with me, I need to visit our father's grave." _I need to see him._ _Because he would have come for me when my mistress tried to kill me_.

Arthur nodded sadly. "I understand. I can spare Leon, Gwaine, and Percival as well, I'm sure they'd like to be there for you." _You always had someone there, close by, ready to set you free at any moment…I was not so lucky._

"Thank you," Guinevere heard herself say. Her husband kissed her forehead and strode out the room.

Soon she was dressed and saddled on her horse, surrounded by her brother and best knights, riding out through the wilderness, ready to be attacked and changed.

* * *

**By the way, sorry about how shameless I was here...totally feel free to wear your Morwen femslash glasses with this one.**

**Next Dream: It'll be Merlin's.**


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